


There's no Place Like Home (for the Holidays)

by beanabaybee



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-18
Updated: 2013-12-18
Packaged: 2018-01-05 02:43:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1088649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beanabaybee/pseuds/beanabaybee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John tries to get into the Christmas spirit, much to Sherlock's dissapointment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There's no Place Like Home (for the Holidays)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to all of my fantastic betas.
> 
> Partially inspired by this fanart:  
> http://milkbubble.tumblr.com/post/69620420731/lets-draw-sherlock-december-challenge-gift

December 1st

“Chestnuts roasting on an open fire…”

“John, what are you singing?” Sherlock unfolded himself from his curled up position on the sofa and sat up to look at John, who was in the kitchen making tea.

“It’s Christmas music, Sherlock. It’s December, and I’m trying to get into the spirit.” John handed Sherlock a cup of tea and sat down in the chair opposite.

Sherlock made a noise of disapproval, “Is it Christmas time again?”

“Yes, Sherlock, it is Christmas again, and you’ll not be able to forget about it, because I love Christmas. In fact, I’m going to start decorating the flat this weekend.”

Sherlock wrinkled his nose, “Why?”

John stood and sat next to Sherlock, placing a hand on his thigh. “Because, this place is the closest thing to home I’ve had in a long time, and it’s not home this time of year without a tree in the corner.”

“Harry got you that Bonsai tree.” Sherlock motioned toward the sad dying plant sitting on John’s desk.

“It’s not quite the same Sherlock; I will be putting up a tree, and lights, and probably stockings with our names on. Not only that, but I will also be listening to Christmas music and possibly baking cookies,” he patted Sherlock’s leg and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead before rising and heading back to the kitchen, “and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

 

December 7th

“Well, who would have thought it was her own brother?” John shrugged off his coat and tossed it on the chair as he walked into the flat

“I did.” Sherlock shrugged out his Belstaff, giving John his best ‘it was all very obvious’ look.

“OK, well, yes, and it was a very impressive catch.” John walked across the room and wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s waist, looking up to kiss him gently, “Very impressive.”

“Impressive enough to make you forget about decorating the flat?”

John pulled away and gave Sherlock a playful shove, “Not a chance. In fact, I’m going to go out to the shops now and get some lights and garland.” 

Sherlock closed the space between them, ducking down to give John a long, languorous kiss. After a moment, John pulled away, pulling a whimper of protest from Sherlock. “Why Sherlock Holmes, I never thought _you_ would use sex as a distraction tactic.”

Sherlock flashed a seductive smile that John was pretty sure only he had ever seen, “Is it working?” 

“Yes,” John laughed, kissing Sherlock again, “you’ve successfully convinced me to go the shops later, after I’ve had my way with you.”

 

December 14th

“Sherlock,” John called from atop the step ladder in the doorway, “could you please help me hang this garland?”

“It’s not centered,” Sherlock mumbled, barely looking up from his microscope in the kitchen.

“Not really the type of help I was hoping for, but thanks.” John sounded irritated, but he got down off the ladder all the same, stepping back to check that he’d successfully centered the decoration. “Hey, listen, I’ve been invited to have Christmas at my cousin’s house in Bristol, do you want to come?” 

“Not particularly.” Once again, Sherlock barely grunted out his answer and didn’t even look up from his experiment.

“Oh, come on, it’ll be fun. I haven’t had a proper Christmas in years, what with my parents being gone, and then being in Afghanistan. I’m really looking forward to it. There will be carol singing, cookies, presents; I wish you’d come, I’d like to spend it with you.”

Sherlock sighed loudly and looked up, “John, I understand that you’re excited about this ridiculous holiday, but Christmas has never been a particularly happy time for me. Mycroft and I both stopped celebrating years ago. So you’ll excuse me if I don’t join in on your ridiculous merriment.”

“Well, I’m going to go. That way, you can sit here and brood in peace.” John sounded genuinely upset as he got down off of the ladder and tucked it away in a corner before pulling on his jacket. “I’ve got a shift at the surgery, I’ll be home later.” 

 

December 21st

John stomped up the steps, throwing his coat on his chair and heading straight into the kitchen, banging the cupboards as he made tea.

“What’s wrong, John?” Sherlock looked up from the book he was reading on the couch.

“I won’t be able to go to Bristol. The other new girl and I at the surgery have to work Christmas Eve. So I’m afraid you’ll be stuck with me, though don’t worry,  there won’t be any ‘ridiculous merriment’ from me.”

For the next few days, all John did was sulk. If he wasn’t at work, he was on the sofa. Sherlock tried to cheer him up (not doing experiments in the kitchen, actually tidying up after himself, walking around the flat naked), but nothing seemed to get him out of his funk.  

On December 23rd, all John wanted to do before his shift at work was relax. Instead, he was constantly being shooed out of the sitting room while Sherlock “I prefer to text” Holmes spoke in hushed tones to someone or another on his mobile.

On Christmas Eve, Sherlock couldn’t seem to get John out the door to work fast enough (maybe he’d finally gotten tired of John’s sulking). John worked a miserable six hours, mostly treating cooking accidents and minor burns, the only pleasant part of the night was when Joan, another of the doctors, showed up to relieve John early because she “never celebrates Christmas anyway.” John had to admit though, that he wasn’t exactly excited to go home to Sherlock as there would probably be a lot of pouting and lectures about the pointlessness of Christmas.

Nevertheless, it was the only place he had to go, so he picked up Chinese takeaway and six pack of beer and headed off to 221 Baker Street, to grit his teeth and celebrate Christmas with Sherlock. 

The first thing John heard when he walked through the front door was Christmas music. At first, he thought it must have been coming from Mrs. Hudson’s, until he remembered she was visiting her nephew until New Year’s Day. Intrigued, John climbed the stairs slowly, the music getting louder as he approached the door to the flat.

John’s suspicions were confirmed when he got to the top of the stairs, _Jingle Bell Rock_ clearly coming from behind the door in front of him. Unable to hold back his curiosity any longer, John opened the door to see, no, he wasn’t going mad, Sherlock, yes, _Sherlock_ , wrapping a string of lights around the largest Christmas tree John had seen in years. The Christmas music was coming from the disused radio on the mantle (which had stockings hanging from it) and the whole flat smelled like, yes, like cookies. 

John took a step forward, unable to keep the smile from blossoming on his face, “Sherlock?” 

Obviously not expecting John to be home yet, Sherlock spun around in shock, wrapping the lights around himself in the process. He then tried to spin the other way to remove them, and only succeeded in twisting them about him further, loosely trapping his arms by his sides. “John,” Sherlock struggled against his festive restraints for a few seconds before giving up, looking absolutely (and, John had to admit, adorably) defeated, “you’re not supposed to be home for at least another hour.” 

“Yeah, uh, one of the other doctors came in early. What are you, “John paused to swallow the giggles that threatened to take over his composure, “what are you doing?”

“I’m decorating the flat.” 

“OK, yeah, but why? You hate Christmas.”

“But you don’t.” Sherlock tried to take a step forward before realizing he was attached to the tree, “and I know you’re upset about missing the big do with your family, so I thought, well, I thought I’d try to give you, as you said, a proper Christmas.”

John placed the beer and Chinese on the coffee table and took a few steps toward Sherlock. “How did you get the tree in here?”

“Lestrade helped me before he met his daughter for dinner.”

John took another step forward, “And the decorations? They look just like my mum’s.”

Sherlock shrugged, “They are. Your sister dropped them off on her way out of town yesterday.”

“You actually spoke to Harry?”

Sherlock shrugged again as if the whole thing was no big deal.

John sniffed the air theatrically. “Don’t tell me you baked cookies.”

“Don’t be silly. Mrs. Hudson wouldn’t let me. Something about burning the flat down,” Sherlock attempted to lift his arm before settling on waving his hand around at his side, “She brought them up before she left.”

“Sherlock, this is the sweetest Christmas present anyone has ever given me.” John took one final step forward, putting him nearly nose to nose (well, nose to collarbone) with Sherlock.

“Well, the effect would have been much better if you hadn’t gotten home early and I could have-“ Sherlock’s sentence was cut short because John chose that moment to grab a handful of Sherlock’s shirt (and some lights), and pulled him down in to a kiss that left them both breathless.

“It’s perfect, you idiot. Merry Christmas.”

Sherlock smiled, as he leaned in to give John another brief kiss. “Merry Christmas, John.”


End file.
